


Clockwork Toys

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The world was at war, and they were playing with toys.  That's what this little operation reminded Craig Garrison of, clockwork toys.  At least that's what it seemed like, much to his annoyance.  He didn't have time for games, but it looked like he wasn't going to be given a choice.  Because what was at stake?  A very special prize - something that was very important to Craig Garrison.





	Clockwork Toys

Clockwork toys - all the rage during the Victorian days, and hardly new even then. Even the ancients had such things, the first recorded instance being in the 4th Century BC. Now, most everyone had seen at least one example - gears and wheels meshing, turning, causing the dogs to jump, the drummers to drum, the dancers to whirl. 

That's what this little operation reminded Craig Garrison of, clockwork toys, but where someone decided to merge the workings of two (at least two, maybe more!) separate mechanisms, resulting in an odd discord of the wheels within wheels, some working smoothly in conjunction with each other, some positioned to clash or interfere with the others. All in all a dizzying array of motion, bewildering to the naked eye, all busy at their own appointed task, working toward their own particular divergent goal.

(Frankly, although he didn't say it out loud, Major Kevin Richards thought it sounded just like what HQ looked like on any particular day!) 

The village had watched in utter bemusement at all the activity that night. Well, it had been something to see, no doubt. Only afterwards did anyone get the nerve to ask "what the hell??!", and only afterwards did anyone have the leisure to try and give a sensible answer anyway.

"See," Casino tried to explain to a fascinated Ben Miller afterwards, "it's like ya took a couple, maybe three or more even, of those little clockwork toys, pulled em all apart and put the pieces back together, but this time, all together inta ONE toy, ya know? Then wound it up and turned it loose !"

Ben had frowned in thought, trying to picture that. His Alice had one of those things, a foot-square replica of a dance floor where six people danced and whirled to music, sometimes as couples, sometimes parting to move on their own. It had been a shocking extravagance, but when she'd been fascinated with it in a second-hand store window on their wedding trip to Cardith after their marriage, he'd thrown caution to the wind and sneaked back to buy it for her. Had to really skimp on the rest of the trip, but the pleasure Alice had taken in it, both then and through the years, had made it well worth the tariff. 

And their daughter Molly had a little mechanical dog that jumped through a hoop when you wound a key, and a goat that ducked and butted and kicked up his heels. {"Take them all apart, put them back together, all on that fancy dance floor, wind it up, and . . ."}

Suddenly he got a mental picture of the dog dancing with one of the couples, and the other couples jumping through the hoops, with that goat kicking here and there, maybe taking a round in the dancing too, and he laughed out loud. Yes, he could see the similarity. He repeated all that to Casino, laughing, and Casino nodded. 

"Yeah, pretty much like that." He shook his head, "man, not even DaVinci or that Mrs. Britton, or whatever-her-name-was, or whoever was supposed to make the best of those damned things would have been able to top THIS! And all because the Lieutenant is just too damned good at his job, and that damned major keeps trying to butt his nose in! Sheesh!"

The prize at the heart of the matter was a very special one, indeed - Lieutenant Craig Garrison's pride and joy - his maps and notes, constantly updated, annotated at the cost of considerable sweat and blood and danger. 

He'd gotten flack before, about keeping them in his possession, but he was stubbornly insistent, since he was the one, with input from his team, who made the updates each trip out, even waking in the middle of the night (on the nights he could even get to sleep), to make one more note, jot down one more fact that might save their lives in the future. Well, it was HQ and a few up there who thought he was being stubborn in refusing to turn them over. HE thought he was just being sensible, and stood his ground. Their lives depended on that information!

Especially after that last incident. Lucky he'd spent that flurry of two days making a copy before handing over that requested information, since the idiots at HQ had opened the folder, pulled out his highly detailed map, with the attached notes giving even MORE details about that remote area currently being disputed by the Germans, the Allied Forces and not one but TWO different guerilla units, noted it differed dramatically from the 'official' records, and trashed it - "not wanting any confusion, old chap. Can't have all sorts of conflicting information floating around, now can we??" Never mind that THEIR information was months, if not years, out of date, and Garrison and the guys had returned from there only last month!

But as for that night at the pub that Ben Miller and the others had watched with such fascination - There were all sorts of cogs and wheels and gears involved in that jaw-dropping whirligig of activity, some present in body, some only in spirit. 

Included were:

First, five women working together, sent to steal Garrison's precious treasure trove. They had a list of items of interest they were to retrieve - maps, journals, notes - anything of special importance to the American lieutenant. Their reward for success? Money. Lots and lots of money. Their talents? Considerable. Their scruples? None. Their employer? Even they don't know, not yet. Of course, they didn't really care, either.

Their employer? The blokes up at HQ. Well, there were primarily two men involved, actually, one on purpose - the one who'd started the whole mess - , the other dragged in kicking and screaming, at least figuratively.

First there was Major Kingston. In his usually pissy way, he was trying to prove that those maps and notes shouldn't stay in Garrison's possession - no matter that the young Lieutenant was the one who'd supposedly made them so valuable, so relevant with his constant updating, annotating, warning notes, etc. His selling points this time? 

One - Security - it was just too risky, the Mansion not secure enough, the men not reliable enough to be trusted with such valuable information. 

Two - If they were THAT valuable, as Garrison claimed, they should be at HQ available to anyone who might need them. 

His reply to Garrison's updating issue? "He can just phone in the changes, one of the clerks can do the updating. Takes far too much on himself, thinks he is the only one who can do anything right!" 

Never mind whether the clerk receiving the information was one who could or would accurately annotate the maps and records from a telephone conversation, or whether the information would get in the hands of someone more interested in leaving on time to make a dinner date and thus quiting halfway through the job and forgetting to finish the job later - if he even was marking the right maps in the first place! 

The fact that Garrison was quite willing to share his expertise with any who needed it? 

"Irrelevant! He reports to US, is responsible to US. He's acting like he's the one in charge, and that is not appropriate!"

Major Kevin Richards also played a part, though not of his own volition. He'd been assigned, against Kingston's wishes, to give a little oversight, the upper-ups having some idea of Kingston's view of Garrison and thinking perhaps a more neutral participant might be wise. 

Kingston was openly skeptical of Richards' involvement, thinking he'd be too lenient where Garrison was concerned, and worried about him slipping Garrison a warning. But he was given no choice; if he wanted the project to go on, Richards WOULD be involved. 

Their superiors felt Richards knew Garrison and his team best, having been their Handler on quite a few jobs now, but taking Kingston's concerns into consideration, strictly ordered Richards not to divulge any of the matter to Garrison or his men. 

Well, of COURSE, he wouldn't! He was an officer, after all, with very strict standards! Why, the very thought!! The sheer indignation on his face when he was given that warning was more than enough to reassure them.

And we mustn't forget those operating slightly outside the official lines, particularly one young man we will call our deus ex machina, acting out of a variety of loyalties, not a one of those loyalties being toward Major Kingston. That would be Private Ames.

Young Private Jeffrey Ames, beloved of Ian O'Donnell, had become quite efficient at his job as the trusted and trustworthy Aide to Major Richards. He had become just as efficient in handling certain little side-jobs, so efficient that in many cases he didn't even need actual instructions or orders before taking the necessary steps. A file slid to the top of his inbox or to the center of his desk, an intercom 'accidentally' left in the Open position by his superior, a calm meeting of the eye with his boss, a casual finger tracing the heading of a particular report, a certain expression, an innocent phrase uttered with a certain quiet smile - yes, he was becoming a master interpreter along with all the rest of his talents.

And the rest of the cogs and gears and wheels, we mustn't forget them - the aforementioned Ian O'Donnell, a younger brother of Meghada O'Donnell. Ciena, Ian's twin sister, who was more than a little fond of Major Richards. Meghada O'Donnell, who was deeply, fervently attached to one of Garrison's men, and quite fond of Garrison and the rest of the team as well. And then there were Coura and Douglas, the irrepressible and wickedly clever youngest set of O'Donnell twins. Coura's affection ranged across the whole lot of them, if perhaps equalling or even exceeding Ciena's affection for Kevin Richards, though expressed in some decidedly odd ways, and Douglas was eager to play a part and just thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Let's eavesdrop on a few thoughts, maybe a conversation or two, just to get a feel for those various wheels and gears and such.

*Kevin Richards sat in sheer disbelief at the latest prim-mouthed exposition coming from Major Kingston. {"Oh, blast! Here he goes again! That fool causes more trouble than any one I've ever known, for supposedly being on our side!"} 

He listened, heard the issues, the plan. He offered several of what he thought were very good arguments in opposition - Garrison's having created the documents in the first place, the team leader's need for the documents (both to do his damned job, and to be able to update them at a moment's notice), Garrison's willingness to share the information, that the information had never been stolen or damaged (except by HQ in that one highly embarrassing episode.). He left out young Ralphie and HIS exploits, thinking it rather beside the point; twelve-year old spoiled American brats, while certainly disruptive, were not usually in the enemy's pocket, and hopefully not something likely to happen along every day.

He pointed out the people being recruited were not necessarily reliable, being what might be termed mercenaries, and might have another agenda. He mentioned the undesirability of those documents being, even temporarily, in uncertain hands. He pointed out the loss of morale when Garrison found out about the plot "as of course he will". 

There were some stern looks of reproof at his terming this a 'plot'. 

"Really, Major Richards! As if WE were the enemy!" 

Richards nobly refrained from the most obvious comment running through his head, {"if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, etc."}

He reluctantly agreed to his assigned role, minor in action, really only a sop to making sure Kingston wasn't running solo, realizing if he didn't, someone else would be placed in that position, possibly someone with their own ax to grind, agreed to keep an eye on the whole project. 

He listened to their stern warnings, gave a beautifully indignant and dignified assurance that he knew his duty quite well, where his loyalties lay, yada yada yada. 

And quickly ran through his options during his brisk walk back to his office. Luckily, he had a few, and by the time he arrived at his office door, had a brisk professional look on his face as he expertly put things in motion.

"Jeffrey, free my appointment calendar for the next few hours, if you will; everything but the most important. And stay close at hand. Something rather urgent has come up. 

"I'll need a new folder and notepad. Label the folder 'Operation Trojan Horse'. I'll be working with Major - well, just put it down in the folder as 'Major K' - must keep things close to the chest, lips zipped shut, all that sort of thing, you know. Quite touchy, you know. 

"And not to change the subject, but Julie's been pestering me for that recipe you said your mother, or maybe one of your sisters, had, some odd concoction, adjar or something like that? Some sort of mixed conserve, I am to be given. Lots of honey, I believe, and nuts and something sour, lemon, maybe? Doesn't appeal to me, like things a bit simpler, less complicated on my plate, but anything to serve, I suppose. Any chance you could put your mind to that? You KNOW how she gets! Quite stroppy when she gets her back up. Perhaps your cousin Egan might pick it up his next trip? Wouldn't want him to have to make a SPECIAL trip, of course; just when he's next in the mood for a little jaunt."

*Jeffrey Ames, upon hearing all that from his boss, blinked rapidly and let it all fall into place into the various slots in his mind. 

{"Here we go again. It looks serious this time, especially if he's talking in riddles even when we're pretty much alone. Lucky we've gotten to know each other so well - just a glance and he puts me on alert, all his little signals pointing me in the right direction. 'Honey', lots of it. Women, obviously, multiple. 'Nuts and sour lemon' - one of the local prunes and prisms, just as clearly. And just as clearly, it's Major Kingston, the superior twit; only Major 'K' of that description that I know of. So, it's all hush hush; something underhanded, then. 'You KNOW how she gets, quite stroppy when she gets her back up! - that's the Dragon, or at least one of O'Donnell sisters. 'Egan', has to mean Ian; and no, of COURSE, it's not to be a SPECIAL trip, nothing 'Urgent'.

{"Sometimes I think the Major and I should join the Charades challenges; bet we'd scoop the pot every week, as well as we do with this 'read what I'm saying without my saying it; do what is needed without my needing to ask'; tell me only what I really need to know, afterwards' business."}. 

He smiled a small professional smile, and went to work. Soon he was back at Richards' desk.

"Here you go sir, a nice crisp new file folder, 'Operation Trojan Horse', and a lovely blank pad, just waiting for you. Press firmly, now; it's one of those new types, with the joined pages. That gives you a blank page between each you write on first time around, so you have room to go back and fill in extra thoughts when they come to you. If you don't think you'll need them, you can just tear them out." 

{"Also gives a nice clear impression when I hold that discarded page up to the light. Ever so handy. Hope Jerry never discovers this, have their moles institute it as an established routine. Better it's just a little private eccentricity; don't know where Ian's family came up with the notion, but it is handy.}

"And I'll see what I can do about those conserves - lots of honey, nuts, sour lemon, I believe you specified. The ladies of the family have a huge recipe file, something suitable for almost every occasion - I'm sure they can locate just the thing. Just depend on me, Major; I'll take care of everything." 

He departed his boss's office with a polite, very professional salute, getting a satisfied one in return. 

"Very good, Jeffrey; very good. I knew I could depend on you," and Major Richards set about writing down everything pertinent concerning that absurd project of Major Kingston's. He was very careful to press firmly, then to tear out the inbetween pages after finishing each page, laying them face down on the side of his desk for his Aide to dispose of later.

He would be meeting with the 'intermediaries' later that afternoon as part of the endeavor; he needed to consider carefully how to refine their instructions. Once he had it worked out in his mind, he very carefully noted that in the last entry on the sheets he was preparing. 

("Never mind with the ordinary records; there are far too many and they are unlikely to prove to be what we are looking for. Keep your sight on any 'special' records, maps or journals that Lieutenant Garrison seems to deem so important he keeps them close at hand."}

Calling to his Aide, he handed over the blank sheets. "Had no need for these, Jeffrey; might as well use them for scrap. The folder is locked away in my desk til this matter is resolved. There's a good chap! Off for a last-minute meeting with some of those involved in the project; dare say I won't be long, just giving them their marching orders, just as noted at the end of the file. Wouldn't want them running amok, after all; best to keep to the prime objective. Much more efficient that way. Feel free to head out to dinner; I've already kept you past time, I know."

And with a serene smile he headed out to meet with five women and impress upon them their objective, those 'special records' of Lieutenant Craig Garrison.

Jeffrey nodded pleasantly, went in to tidy his superior's office, including those scrap sheets. It took quite a bit of time, enough that by the time he was finished and had called to make a dinner date, it was WELL past time. Ah, well, all in a good cause.

*Ian O'Donnell, in one of the private upper rooms of Maude's pub where he'd gone for a bite to eat, after listening to his Jeffrey ('coincidentally' there for the same purpose) relate what foolishness was involved in 'Operation Trojan Horse', shook his head in pure wonderment.

"You have GOT to be kidding me, Jeffrey! Surely even Kingston isn't that - well, never mind! Stupid thing to say in the first place; of COURSE he's that idiotic! One of the most useful things the teams have going for them, especially Garrison's guys, and HE thinks to stick his finger in and muck it up! And bringing in outsiders? Can't imagine how THAT might go wrong, can you??? Sometimes I have to wonder if Kingston is really working for the other side, you know?

"Poor Kevin, stuck right in the middle, isn't he?! You'd never think it to work with him now, Jeffrey, but there was a time when he was headed toward being another like Kingston; all prissy and so concerned about the 'right and proper' way of doing things, he was letting the important things pass him by. Totally stiff-rumped and totally hidebound he was when our mother brought him home with her! She, well, all of us really, took him in hand and tried setting him on a different course.

"By the time you started working with him, the family had been chipping away at him for years, making some progress, but he's really come a long way over just the past couple of years. Think sister's laddie and his friends were responsible for a lot of that; really shook up his confidence at being able to judge things, thinking he was always right to go by 'the established view', you know, once he got to know them. Though having Coura always nipping at his heels probably helped a lot too; sharpest teeth in the family, baby sister, and not leary of drawing blood and not overly careful where she gets in her bite!

"Used to cringe when I'd hear some of the things Kevin would prose on about, how he'd get the sisters' backs up, and totally shuddered to think of him connected to the family in the way the Far Seers said it looked like he'd probably end up being, Bond-kin, you know. Not that I didn't like him; I did, I do - just couldn't imagine it at the time. No, probably not something I should talk about, even with you, my dear, not til it's a done deal; yes, I know you understand - Family business and all at a level far above mine. Still can't quite see it, myself, but stranger things and all that.

"Well, best see that I head out to let 'the ladies' know sweet Julie needs that conserve recipe. I'm sure they'll sort things out. They generally do." 

The two men shared a companionable laugh, one last caress, and Ian was gone. 

*Meghada didn't have a lot to say at first, when Ian briefed her. Oh, there was a snarl, a hiss, and that kitchen table got a brand new set of claw marks that would necessitate a few hours sanding to remove, but not a lot of actual words. 

Then, after a couple of drinks, the humor of it sank in, and that sly grin, one Ian thought had a lot in common with the one Goniff often wore, CERTAINLY bore a great similarity to little sister Coura's scariest look, peeked through, and then the low chuckle. 

"This could be rather amusing, little brother, you know? Not the threat, certainly, that's annoying past belief, but possibly the dealing with it. All kinds of possibilities. And you say you've directed Coura and Douglas in this direction, and Ciena if she can get free? Lovely, absolutely lovely!! Have you ever seen one of those old stately dances where every few steps they change partners? If not, you're about to! From a distance, that is. You shouldn't be involved directly, of course; don't want anything leading back to Jeffrey and through him, to Kevin. 

"Now, Ian, about these five women. I need to know more, much, much more. Who they are, what other little jobs they've taken on in the past, just where they draw their lines, how far do they go and for what purpose," she considered.

Ian frowned slightly, thinking. "Other than just dealing with their current operation involving the guys? How deep do you want us to dig? And, while we're on the subject, sister, where are YOU going to draw YOUR line? Just stymie their current project? Turn them over to their own law officials or the military - remember, it was one of the military who started this. 'Encourage' them to turn over a new leaf? Turn them into leaf mold themselves, perhaps??"

That got a laugh, but they both knew she'd have few qualms if she decided it was necessary. Well, Dragons, you know. Actually Wolves thought pretty much along the same lines, so Ian didn't turn a hair.

"You should probably have some idea at the beginning, sister. Don't forget Kevin has his fingers in this as well; we don't want blowback for him either."

"Oh, I won't forget about Kevin, be assured of that, or Jeffrey either. But as for the ladies? That depends on what we find out, about their past, and about their current plan. 

"No, no, we are not the arbiter of Outlander morality or ethics or legality, I know that, outside of how their dealings affect us. How could we be? We differ far too much for that. But who they are, how much damage they've done, are WILLING to do - all that is important in deciding how to deal with them now. Just as their reasons are important in that determination."

"You gave Marina and Diane a pass for causing trouble; well, other than scaring the holy shit out of them, as I recall," Ian reminded her.

"Aye, and I knew their records. They were agents, following orders, supposedly for the benefit of the military operation. They had been misled, and let their 'follow orders' mindset foolishly lead them into not thinking or questioning those orders properly. They will not be so foolish again. They were to sow discord, and yes, that would have been damaging. I took all that into consideration. Just as I will take everything we find out into consideration with this lot."

She poured a drink from the bottle on the table, for her and for her brother.

"There are so many possibilities I can think of, far TOO many, and those need to be narrowed down. Con artists cum thieves working out of patriotism, or working strictly for a profit? Do they limit themselves to the con, the theft, or do they consider violence to the mark or innocent bystanders as acceptable to their goals? That information of Craig's is valuable for a number of reasons. Would they consider it acceptable to put it up for auction once it is in their hands? Will they have any concern about the damage it could do? Are they redeemable, can they be set on a course perhaps beneficial to the Clan and its own goals, are they better neutralized? And if it's the latter, temporarily or permanently? There is very much to consider, but without information, having to consider it ALL, that only muddies the water, you see. And I MUST be able to see clearly."

Ian laughed, shaking his head. "I'm glad I mostly fly the airplanes and make deliveries; I'd get dizzy trying to deal with all that. But I can see why you've always liked Jeffrey so much; he's got that wheels-within-wheels mentality too." 

*And then there was Victoria Regine, self-appointed leader of the five women entrusted with this 'Trojan Horse' project. She was NOT happy, as she thought over their rather amazing lack of success so far. The job should have been finished by now; instead, they were hardly farther along than when they'd started.

Her rouged lips pursed in annoyance, before she remembered that such an expression caused those tiny wrinkles around the lips and quickly adjusted to something less damaging. Oh, she didn't have to worry about wrinkles when she looked in the mirror NOW, but eventually, in a few years, she knew she would regret every little frown and grimace, so she worked hard at it.

She worked hard at a lot of things, usually with considerable success, though some things coming easier than others, but nothing more frustrating than the past couple of weeks. Well, her and her confederates. 

In fact, they all agreed, it was absolutely infuriating. And it should have been so easy. After all, these were men, one admittedly quite sophisticated but the other three far from it, living a relatively isolated life away from attractive women most of the time. They should have been eager for Victoria and the others to pay them some attention.

Certainly the women in this little village wouldn't be any great threat - two barmaids, one married and plain, one younger and perhaps more attractive in a very common sort of way, but quite silly; a few sternly-protected teenagers, mostly far too young to be serious competition; various married women of no great appeal; one local eccentric, not unattractive and of the right age, but with an exceedingly odd reputation, along with her equally-odd sisters who were visiting.

It should have been no trick at all, gaining the mens' attention, pulling them into the net, getting what they needed from them. Yet, every time it looked like one of women was making progress, one of the others stepped in. Well, one of the others or one of the highly-annoying locals. 

Oh, they weren't neglecting the officer by focusing on the four others, but they knew their chances of getting anywhere with him were rather slim. They'd heard he wasn't really susceptible, but then again, you never knew. Maybe he'd just never come up against five women so alluring, so delectable, so experienced, so determined. 

Still, what they'd come to steal, that was supposedly his most valuable asset; they had to assume he'd be on constant alert as to its safety. Him they would just try to disarm a bit, perhaps provide some simple diversion, enough to make him think them of no real importance, certainly no threat to him or his. That left the others - four men who should have been easy to sway, to manipulate.

Victoria Regine poured out a small glass of wine, waiting for her fellow conspirators to come down to the living room of the small house they'd rented in a nearby town. She looked around in distaste. The place was far below their usual standards, but it was what was available. Oh, well, soon they would be back in the more rarified surroundings where they belonged.

Her mind went back to the current annoying situation. It had started out as a job, and a rather unexpected one at that. They were used to something much different, more, well, up-scale, you could say. And, in most cases, their projects were self-determined; one of them would read something in the society pages, or overhear something at some social affair, and an idea would blossom. Still, a job was a job, and they did take on the occasional outside comission if it was profitable enough.

Supposedly this was the home base for a small group of men being sent to make things more difficult for Hitler and the Axis forces. Well, they weren't the only group, of course, and you wouldn't think there would be anything that pointed out this particular group as a target any more than any of the others. 

But there was, at least according to their current employer, whoever THAT was. They were careful not to inquire too closely about his, or maybe her, identity. And really, it wasn't germane to the main issue, gaining access to those annotated maps and records that Lieutenant Garrison supposedly had stashed up at the house, and therefore gaining access to the rather nice amount of money their employer was willing to offer in exchange. 

They'd get the information, then, they'd decided, they would consider alternatives to turning over those so-important papers. Well, maybe they WOULD turn over the originals, as they'd been hired to do; it would hardly do to start making enemies among their occasional employers. But no one said anything about them copying the information and possibly finding another buyer, or two, maybe even three. Surprisingly remiss of that employer, the women thought, not to have considered that possibility, but then maybe that person wasn't used to inventive thinking, multi-tasking. Victoria Regine was certainly an inventive thinker, and she did SO like multi-tasking; it could be ever so profitable. Why, that little Renoir, they had sold that four times over by the time that job was done, with not one of the buyers catching on til Victoria Regine and the others were off and gone.

Here, they'd mapped out the possibilities quite thoroughly. Maybe getting the men used to them being around, getting more than a little friendly, enough that they'd get some invitations to visit up at that house, maybe for drinks or something. Once inside, it should be easy for one of them to slip away, maybe all of them in rotation, each snatching some little tidbit. 

Maybe, if that didn't seem to work, discovering some pressure point that would force one or more of the men to give them access. 

If those two possibilities didn't pan out, perhaps creating some sort of diversion to get everyone away from the place for long enough to let them sneak in and find what they'd been sent after. An old house like that was probably prone to chimney fires. Or perhaps a fire in the village that would require all able hands to fight. 

Oh, there were any number of possibilities for the enterprising mind, as long as you weren't caught up in some ever-so-tiresome emotional or moral restraints, and they'd never been much for those in the first place. Business was business, after all.

And, as previously said, it had started out as just another job. But now it was getting personal. None of the women were used to anyone out-thinking them, or really, standing in their way no matter WHAT. 

"It just seems rude, when you came to think of it!" Victoria Regine had proclaimed, a spoiled pout distorting her perfect lipline once again. "It's like THEY'RE the ones running the game! Every time we get close to one of them, one of the others waltzes in and interferes!"

Victoria Regine tilted her head back haughtily, in a decidedly regal manner, which was only fitting considering the name. 

Oh, 'Victoria Regine' wasn't her real name, of course, but she DID think it fit so exceedingly well when she'd used it in a play at school that she'd taken it on as her own when she got out into the 'real' world. Of course, in the play it was actually 'Victoria Regina', but Lucille Marie Blodgette thought that just sounded wrong, that pronounciation, that last 'a' diminishing the way the name rolled off the lips, so she just dropped it, gave the last part a slightly romantic twist to make it truly her own.

That had been a real gas, playing that part. Of course, there were more than a few who were shocked when she was chosen to play the lead; after all, she was a 'scholarship' student, one there by the grace of compassion, not because her parents were big and important and rich like most of the others could claim. 

Well, she knew quite well how to manage the big and important and rich to her own advantage; her family, especially her mother, had been doing that for years. Dear mum had been mistress to several of that group, even showed up in the will of three of them after their unexpected deaths, those sums to be added to the earnings and expensive gifts she'd gotten in the meantime.

Four years at the school, and she WAS its 'Victoria Regina', the reigning queen of all, and woe betide you if you fell afoul of her.

It had been such an inspiration, that play, and really quite serendipitous when you thought about it. Josephine's second cousin or uncle or something had written a play that Josephine claimed was something really special and the little sneak had bribed her younger cousins into copying it out while 'Dear Uncle Larry' was recuperating from a bad cold. Josephine had giggled all the time she was telling them about it. 

"And supposedly it's the law that it can't be performed on the stage til 100 years after she's dead, became Queen or some such twaddle. She IS dead, isn't she? Or IS she??" 

Well, no one ever claimed Josephine was devoted to her studies. She was loads of fun, always had plenty of pen money to share, and was a first-rate sneak and liar, but not anyone you'd ask history or current event questions of.

The idea of performing a play no one was supposed to perform was just too precious, and the drama teacher, bless her befuddled heart, didn't have a clue. SHE thought Sheridan was a 'modern playwright', after all, and still talked about "dear, dear Will Shakespeare! So cunning, the dear boy!". A box of chocolate cremes to share over tea, a little gentle urging, and they were home safe. 

Clarissa, a pretty cunning piece herself, had taken care of getting and administering the chocolate cremes, and coo'ing and simpering and by the time the tea was finished, Miss Marigold was ever so pleased with herself about this 'new play the dear girls would SO enjoy putting on! Isn't it so lovely I found it!'.

Loretta had been the one to arrange the casting, as agreed to by the Head Mistress. The Head Mistress had certain 'weaknesses', particularly one that called for a pipe, a burner, and those tar-like little spheres of opium, and Loretta had connections on the outside, her father, a minor member of nobility, having a few weaknesses of his own. 

Now, Reverend Carlin, the one who provided spiritual guidance to the school, he gave his permission as well, as required by the school charter so as to assure any theatricals would be limited to those which were morally uplifting. The Reverend, he had a few weaknesses of his own, and while the girls didn't cater to them -the Reverend being quite self-sufficient in his seeking out pretty boys with whom to while away his spare time - they DID make good use of their knowledge in making him see reason when he needed a little extra prompting. 

And the Music Mistress, Mistress Francine, the one who acted as Director of any theatrical endeavors? She was building up a nest egg to retire on, preferably before she hit forty - sweeten her tea with enough jam and she would have let the girls burn down the school.

Giselle made up the fifth of the tightknit little clique. Giselle was their 'Curator', or at least that's what they all called her, always with a secret little laugh. Giselle was what once would have been called a blue-stocking. Highly intelligent, intellectually curious, even insatiably so, she had read every book worth reading in the school library, and the library was the first place she visited at every fine establishment she visited. Somehow, more than a few volumes left with her, the servants often wondering what on earth the girl packed in her luggage to make it so heavy. Since the books were hardly ones a delicately-reared young lady would ever touch, even if it was noted that they were missing, an eye was never cast toward her. 

The exceedingly valuable copy of Machiavelli's 'The Prince' was one of her most prized possessions, and there were several in that same vein. Of course, the erotic tomes were treasured as well, and those were read most assiduously by the little group. Whenever there was a scheme in the making, Giselle could find the appropriate book with the appropriate guidance, either in her own ever-growing collection, or she would ferret out a source whereby she could obtain such a book. Amazing what was actually put down in writing, just all manner of interesting things.

Yes, the five were fast friends, and made a good team. They'd formed their group during their first year at the Rorland Academy for Young Ladies, though it had been under the sure guidance of Lucille Marie, who had a knack for spotting other like-minded females. By the end of their second term, they were holding the reins of the institution, and when the third terms started, a percentage of the till was dropping neatly into their own little nest egg. After all, while three of the girls came from very wealthy families, and Giselle's were very well-to-do, they would have access to money of their own only if they abided by their family's dictates, and they were none so eager to do that. 

"Stick in the muds, every one of them," Clarissa had noted with scorn. "Not a bit of fun in the whole lot of them!"

Well, the five friends intended to have fun, loads of fun, and to do that they needed every advantage, every trick they could tuck up their ever-so-fashionable sleeves. And they would need money, lots and lots of money, and they had all kinds of ideas about how to get it.

Now they had money, scads of it, though they spent it pretty freely too. And their goals had expanded. While they still sought money, and fun, they also found they got a great deal of personal satisfaction from planning an operation and carrying it out, pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. And these men, this job? The time it was taking and their lack of success, that was threatening their self-image, even their professional reputation, and they simply were not going to stand for it!

So, that stately dance? The one illustrated so well at the pub on the night in question? Well, it went something like this.

Giselle had the tall Italian, Actor, in a deep conversation about the writings and philosophy of Ninon de l'Enclos, and it was going quite well. Just titillating enough to raise the temperature a few degrees without appearing unladylike. Then, out of the blue, the one called Casino peels away from a conversation with Loretta to challenge HER target, Actor, to a game of darts! 

Giselle had to fight to keep a pleasant look on her face, and Loretta wasn't even trying!

Josephine was giggling and laughing with the small blond man, Goniff, him seeming to enjoy her company as much as Josephine obviously was enjoying his. Then, there was the Lieutenant, calling him away for a good scold about something or other. Like that couldn't have waited til later??!

Clarissa moved in to distract the Lieutenant, let Josephine get back to her target, and there was that youngster, brother to the village eccentric, trying to flirt with her and being quite determined about it. Determined, very forward, and as sure of himself and his abilities and expertise as if he'd been the reincarnation of Don Juan himself. And if he was even fifteen, SHE'D be shocked, even more than his smiling suggestions had already shocked her.

Victoria had been left with the young Indian as her target for the evening; she hadn't expected such a solid discounting of her charms. Oh, he'd listened, he hadn't moved away when she'd smiled, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to dance with her, but there was something in the way he looked at her that gave her the shivers, and not the good kind. 

The five had given each other the signal, indicating it just wasn't clicking right, and they shifted targets as had been prearranged. 

Somehow, though, in the doing, one of the sisters of that exceedingly odd woman the villagers seemed to just call 'the O'Donnell lass', had cornered Giselle and was leaning in discussing some old book that focused on "female deceivers and their various fates; so edifying, you know, if rather uncivilized to the modern ear, perhaps. Though, less so than what was meted out to the males, or so it would seem. Rather disrespectful, to my way of thinking, not to be treated equally. But, speaking of ways and means, tell me, Giselle, which do you think would be more painful, the techniques formulated by Dalusarious - the ones involving removing the offender's entrails through a small opening in the abdomen and measuring how far they would stretch - or the preferred method of the Makuri tribesmen, the forced ingestion of snake venom over a period of several days?"

Victoria was a little surprised at the wide-eyed appeal in the frantic glance Giselle sent her way, along with the very odd shade of green Giselle was turning; the young blonde had an unusually strong stomach, but what ever was being discussed was obviously something out of the ordinary. 

She started to make her way over when she caught the young Indian's gaze on her. {"Chief, they call him 'Chief'"}. There was something very disturbing about that slow smile, and even more about the way he was caressing the sheathed knife she could now see he was wearing strapped to one forearm. 

And there was the other sister. Not the eccentric, that 'O'Donnell lass', who was watching the whole room as if she was a theatrical critic and this was all some fascinating stage performance, one about which she was writing a review for the London Times. No, the other one, with her hair in one long braid over her shoulder, some sort of feather tucked into the end of it. And SHE was wearing a knife on her arm as well! No, not just her arm, but at her waist too. It hadn't been obvious before, but now that the woman had stood and made her way to stand next to the Indian, her jacket had swung open to bare the extra blade. 

Victoria shuddered. She couldn't hear what those two were whispering about, but they were looking at her, and smiling the most sinister smiles, stroking those damned knives. First one, then the other had licked their lips as if in anticipation of some treat, and Victoria had suddenly had enough for the evening.

But making their escape hadn't been so easy. There that annoying preacher was, cornering Giselle and Loretta, seeming to think they were new residents, determined to get them to join the Women's Guild and the church choir! 

The village doctor, and heaven help the villagers if HE was all they had to depend on, the dimwit! came over to offer Victoria advice on her complexion! As if there was anything wrong with her complexion!!!!

The two barmaids had broached Clarissa, offering her 'advice' if she was intending to 'take up whoring in the area'. Seems they didn't mind any competition, just goodnaturedly welcoming one they thought was in their same line of work. Clarissa was spitting mad still, especially when that old handyman, the one they called Howie, offered to be her first customer, "just to get the ball rolling, like they say. Even pay full price, that's the kind of honest-dealer I am!"

And Josephine? She was shaking in her elegant boots. It seems the eccentric had sought her out. "Says none of the others will 'play' with her anymore!" Josephine had nigh on whimpered. "Said they're too 'timid' 'afraid of a little blood'. But that she could see that I was one with some courage, some fire. That we could have great 'fun' together! Then she came close enough she could have kissed me, nuzzled my neck and whispered in my ear "after all, what's a little pain between, ummm, friends, ei???

"I'm telling you, I don't want to be within a mile of that woman, ever again!!!"

It had taken some effort to figure out what had happened, and even in the discussion in their rental house they couldn't quite decide whether any of that had been deliberate, just to throw them off balance, or whether they were just dealing with a bunch of uncivilized, ill-mannered and possibly devient boors.

Giselle was still shaken after that conversation with the younger of the three sisters, Coura. "I swear, she had the oddest look in her eyes, all the while she was going on about how so few appreciated really strong women. Well, I could have agreed with her on that, but she went on and on about how some of those ghastly tortures wuld so easily overcame a man, but how she was just SURE a woman, a strong self-reliant woman, would be able to stand up to any and all of that much better. How it was really a shame no one had ever put it to a real test. Victoria, she was almost drooling! She's quite mad! I think the whole lot of them are!"

Well, Victoria wasn't too sure Giselle wasn't right, considering those looks she'd gotten from Chief and the other sister, Ciena. As for the older sister? Oh, there was no question there, from the talk AND from what was so easily seen in those glittering eyes.

Still, money was money, a job was a job, so she shook herself and gathered her resolve about her. 

"All the more reason to get this job done and over with! Josephine, what about the blond, Goniff? He seems the easiest mark. Any ideas there?"

At least there was some good news from that corner. 

"If that annoying Lieutenant Garrison hadn't interferred, I'm sure I could have gotten him to do the job for us. He's one of those who is dumb as a rock but doesn't know it; even seems to consider himself quite clever. Obviously Garrison and the others DO know the score, but find him useful in some way so they keep him around. But they have to know he could be tricked into saying too much easily enough. Did you see how fast that officer jumped in when he thought we were getting too friendly? Believe me, we keep the others from interferring and that idiot will bring me anything I want!"

And at the Mansion, blackout blinds in place, the OTHER wheels and cogs and gear were discussing the evening. Well, after Goniff and Casino stopped laughing, which took some doing.

"Coo, if we confused them, ruddy 'ell, did you see their faces after 'Gaida and Douglas and the sisters got through with them? And the Reverend deserves a medal, right along with AJ and Nellie and Josie and Old 'owie. Tween acting like they thought the skirts were 'ere to set themselves up as ladies of the evening, or MAYBE to become solid churchgoing members, or just looking to fix their 'unfortunate complexions', the ladies were ruddy well flummoxed!"

"Yeah, well, I still wanna know where Douglas learned what he was suggesting to that one dame! Hell, I didn't even figure THAT out til I was a heck of a lot older than what HE is! And what he ended with? That's a new one on me; he's gonna tell me the whole spiel if I have to sit on him til he squeaks like a rubber ball!"

Garrison grinned, but quieted them all down with just a gesture. 

"Look, I'll admit it was funny, but we can't forget the whole objective - confuse them enough that when they con Goniff into giving them what they came after, it looks right. We need to get this done and get them gone. I don't want this to drag on; we're likely to be sent out any day now, and I don't want those five hanging around here getting up to mischief while we're gone."

"Well, there is a limit to how much of that they COULD cause, Craig, at least with what we were told they are after, with our packing up everything of that nature and moving it to a safer location."

"Maybe, but while we're focusing on their nonsense, we're NOT focusing on what we need to be doing. And the whole point is to have that stuff HERE! Goniff, you think they'll make the approach soon?"

"Should think so. If I'd dropped my IQ any lower tonight, would 'ave been able to fit it on the end of a matchstick. Coo, it was a right treat, me 'struggling' to understand 'er, watching that skirt keep trying to come up with words she thought I might understand, them getting smaller and smaller every few minutes! Kept expecting 'er to end up pointing and just saying 'sit' or 'roll over' or 'fetch'."

"Yeah, at least you got that last down pat," Casino smirked, getting a quick slap to the side of his head by an amused Chief.

"Maybe, Pappy. YOU'D do better with the 'roll over', I bet," the young Indian said with a half-smile. "Or maybe just 'lay down'; can see you handling that one alright, she asks you pretty enough."

"Alright, enough with the clowning. We get this done. We especially get this done before Meghada and her crew gets too motivated! I have to tell you, they were all making even ME nervous in there, and I KNEW they were acting."

Goniff snickered, sly amusement on his face. "Glad YOU'RE sure of that, Warden. Wouldn't want to take any bets on that myself. Got some pretty strong notions, the w'ole lot of them, you know, and they start thinking back on w'at one of their family might 'ave done a few 'undred years ago and things might get real interesting."

Somehow that did NOT make Garrison feel any more comfortable. It was bad enough with what the devious redhead had come up with for Goniff to hand over, once the women finally 'got through to him' about what they were looking for.

He looked through the double handful of items in the center of the table, some little leather bound notebooks, some folded maps, one by one, tossing each back into a fresh stack alongside the first when he was finished. He commented on a few as he did so, noting that the handwriting looked so much like his that it was scary.

"Hand-drawn map of Hungary. Showing the mountain ranges, rivers. Enemy encampments, lines of engagement. Names of principal contacts in the margins. Includes the major seaports, all three of them, including their fortifications, ton limit of ships able to dock there, anything else you'd be interested in there."

Actor took a contented puff on his pipe. "Considering Hungary is totally landlocked, that is quite an impressive feat."

"Hand-drawn map of Cyprus, featuring their inland desert and hidden wells, including that hitherto unknown underwater tunnel connecting it to the mainland. Along with how much will be needed to bribe the guards to allow access, how many soldiers could pass through abreast, and so on."

"List of Russian contacts. I have to admit I'm impressed with what the Powers That Be have been able to accomplish there, who they've managed to enlist. Impressive names to be sure: Alyosha Karamazov, Yevgeny Bazarov, Pierre Bezukhor, Ilya Oblomov, Baba Yagasha."

Actor gave a delighted laugh, "most impressive indeed."

Casino frowned, "I don't get it. These important guys?"

"In Russian literature, most assuredly. But unless the ladies are aficionado's of great Russian literature, I doubt they will recognize the significance," Actor explained.

Goniff smirked, "I particularly like them including Baba Yaga, even if they did fancy up 'er name. Like to see them going asking 'ER for information. Likely pop in 'er iron teeth and gobble them right up!"

That got him an odd stare, perhaps from Actor most of all, him the only one who was familiar with the character and her supposedly unfriendly habits. How on earth did Goniff know about the Russian witch who supposedly lived in a hut that stood on chicken legs?? Sometimes . . .

Garrison cleared his throat. "If I may continue?"

He flicked out one item after another, ending with something indecipherable even to him. He frowned, then realized. "Bring me that small mirror," and Chief hastened to snatch the gilt-framed oval from the side wall.

"Mirror writing, Craig?" Actor inquired with a frown. "Not so easy to read."

"A hell of a lot harder to do, even, but it's done quite well; it's still obviously my handwriting, even though it's not," he said distractedly as he fiddled with the positioning to get the small journal and mirror just right to let him read it. He paged through, read a bit, frowned, turned a few pages forward, again and again, before he closed it, shaking his head with a grin of utter delight that took a good five years off his face, making him look totally out of place in that uniform he was wearing.

"A few short essays on various men and women, by disposition or profession, if not by name, and how best to deal with them; not particularly polite or subtle. Poetry, including one very lurid and passionate ode. A sonnet or two that Shakespeare most certainly did NOT write! A character sketch, dialogue really, of some unknown individuals at a party - seems a cross between Sheridan, Wilde, and Alcott. More poetry. Including some of the most vulgar limericks I've ever read."

"Hey! Read some of those, Warden!" Casino enthused, getting a burst of spontaneous laughter from around the table.

"I don't think so, Casino. Though, in reading the first few, I think they might have been talking about you. Though this one seems to maybe have Actor in mind, since it's titled "A Scholar's Lament' though I hardly think he'd be involved in anything so undignified."

The Italian frowned, "here, let me see that!" and went around behind Garrison to peer into the glass. 

"Hmmmph! I don't see why you would think that pertains to me, Craig," though the red flush on his face made them wonder if he himself didn't understand quite well! 

Goniff grinned, "sounds like Coura and Douglas 'ad themselves some fun. Told me that mirror writing is something they did a lot w'en they were kids."

Chief shook his head, "hard to think of those two ever being kids. Sometimes I think they were born knowing more than most ever learn their whole lives."

"Knowing how to create total confusion, that's for damned sure," Casino agreed. 

Garrison shook his head in amazement. "Do you realize how much work went into that? The whole lot? How much time it must have taken? Actor, what do you think? Will Victoria and her henchwomen get wise?"

Actor was still repeating that limerick to himself. {'There once was a hoity-toit scholar, Who gave an old girlfriend a holler. A digit misplaced, led to a red face, and a lady on the floor of her parlor!'}. He had been SO sure no one knew about that little incident with the telephone and the wrong number!

"What? Oh, will they see through the misdirection to the truth below? I rather doubt it. It is all beautifully obscure, and what isn't obscure would take someone with quite specialized knowledge to see through it. The most obvious is the map of Hungary, and even that is couched in rather ambiguous terms, only the color indicating water, and the other information possibly a code you intended to designate something quite different. No, I think it will serve quite well."

Goniff had slipped into town to pick up some hard candy at the grocery, and to the housewares shop to see if they had another coffee pot, and then "just because it was there and why not?" slipped into the pub afterwards.

Josephine and Clarissa had followed him while the others remained in the background, ready to distract anyone who might think to interfere. 

Goniff's hazy blue eyes had lit up, accompanied by a delighted smile. "Ei, ladies! Fancy seeing you 'ere! Join me for a pint?"

They were equally delighted, and the patter back and forth was animated, if increasingly showing signs of frustration on the parts of the two women. Clarissa was now firmly convinced while it wouldn't be much of a chore to get the Cockney to bring them Garrison's records, it was going to take an act of God to get the stupid man to understand what they were asking him to do!!

Finally it seemed to sink in, by the wide grin of satisfied accomplishment that followed all those puzzled frowns he'd been giving them.

"You're wanting to get a peek at all the special stuff, right? Oh, there's lots of the other, but 'e don't care so much for that. Least, 'e lets whoever borrow it w'en ever they want. But 'e DOES 'ave a special stash that 'e don't like anyone tampering with. Gets right pissy you even look in that direction. Spect THAT'S what you're looking to take a glimmer at. Naw, no problem getting my fingers on them; just never 'ad any reason to before. Shoulda said that right up front, w'at you were wanting. Best to make yourself clear, that's w'at my old mum always used to say. Never can count on 'ow bright those you're talking to might be; not all are as canny as I am, you know. No sense beatin around the bush, as they say."

He was so pleased with himself for finally catching on, they refrained from hitting him for that mild scolding, though it really was tempting. 

A quick little negotiation, which included their sincere promise to just take a little look when he brought them the goods over behind the grocery in a couple of hours.

"We'll just read through them tonight, and hand them back to you in the morning. And we won't tell a soul, we promise. We wouldn't want to get you in any trouble, Goniff. Not when you're being so nice in letting us see them and all," Clarissa had coo'd, and Josephine, busy dropping little kisses along the nape of his neck, hastened to agree.

"First thing in the morning, we promise. You come meet us at the grocery then, and we'll give them right back to you!" Josephine had purred. 

That little shiver he'd given in response she put down to her teasing breath in his ear, not his earnest thought of what would have happened if he'd actually been dumb enough to get mixed up in their games for real. Luckily he'd gotten over being that dumb right about the time his mum had weaned him.

He'd dallied over his pint, letting them get well on their way, then leisurely made his way back to the Mansion to collect the package Garrison had ready for him. 

Within an hour he was back. "Smooth as spider-silk, Warden! Glanced through them, just a quick look at each, but nothing that seemed to set off an alarm. Imagine they're either back at their place taking a better look, or on their way back to London to make contact."

"Well, we won't know whether it worked, not for awhile. In the meantime, we have a job to do. Just heard, we're moving out in the morning. Goniff, better have a supply of those herbs Meghada makes up for you. There are tin cans in our future."

Major Kingston had been as puffed up as a bullfrog in spring time, hurried to make an appointment with his superior officer to smugly hand over the packet Victoria had delivered to him. Oh, it had been a face to face meeting with his hireling this time; he wasn't about to hand over cold hard cash without seeing the merchandise, and he didn't trust Major Richards not to mess things up somehow. He'd taken a fast look, and a cold breeze of satisfaction had settled over him. {"I have you now, Lieutenant!"}

His superior had received Kingston and the package of documents and assorted other items, picked up the phone, called for Major Richards and two other officers, and while they waited for the other officers to arrive, Kingston expounded. 

"You see how right I was, thinking those were unsafe being left in Garrison's hands! It hardly took any effort to get one of his men to hand those over! What if it had been the Germans who'd presented the opportunity??! Just think of the damage!"

Mixton had been thumbing through the pile, opening, browsing, sometimes with a flicker of surprise on his face, sometimes a slightly puzzled frown.

"And these are from Garrison's private records?"

"Precisely! Maps, notes, journals! Why, who knows how much top secret information is included in there!!!"

Mixton turned back to that map of Hungary, tracing the ocean-side border that must have been established since the last time he (or anyone else) had ventured there. 

"Hmmm."

He turned to the list of Russian contacts, considered that underground waterway to Cyprus, a place with which he was quite familiar, almost as familiar as those names had been.

The arrival of Major Richards, Colonel McClaine, and military attorney Major Brewster brought his browsing to an end. 

"So, gentlemen. I believe I will let Major Kingston explain; after all, he was instrumental in bringing this matter to my attention. These are records, maps, journals our Lieutenant Garrison was keeping as his 'private property' instead of in the official files. The good Major obtained these for a tidy sum of money via a group of hired intermediaries he hired, ones who at the Major's request, convinced one of Garrison's men to abscond with them. Major Kingston is of the opinion they should be under the jurisdiction of us here at HQ, readily available to those we deem in need of them. Your opinion, please, gentlemen." 

If Mixton had any hesitation about throwing Kingston under the bus, you certainly couldn't have told it from his smooth as silk voice or his placid expression. To tell the truth, Kingston annoyed the hell out of him, more times than not, and especially when he insisted on wasting everyone's time on some of his fool nonsense!

Kingston was preening like a peacock, with a superior smile on his fact that even Actor could not have matched, as he prepared to impress the men gathered.

Kevin Richards was tense; he had no idea what action had been taken to put a spoke in Kingston's wheel, but only hoped it had been successful. Well, he'd know soon enough.

The other two officers appeared noncommittal, waiting for more information. Colonel McClaine, who had perhaps a little more knowledge of all the individuals involved than was commonly known, was most interested in seeing how it all played out, though he took care not to show it. Major Brewster truly had no notion, was just waiting for someone to justify dragging him away from his office on such short notice.

Kingston explained his strong reservations about "such important material" being left in the hands of Lieutenant Craig Garrison, "especially with his men being of dubious reliability, and that is putting the case mildly, as I am sure you will agree. Especially when it was so easy for me to put my hands on this material."

The men reached out, each taking an item, browsing; when they were finished, they'd exchange for an item another had finished with. The small selection of mirror writing had proved the most difficult, but some careful placement of the mirror Mixton's secretary had provided solved that.

So far there had been no conversation regarding the contents, not til Kevin Richards decided they might as well start somewhere before someone burst out laughing. 

He leaned in, squinted to read what was reflected in the mirror, swallowed deeply and intoned, "There once was a girl from Manassas . . ."

Snorts of laughter came from everyone except Kingston, who'd turned beet red in frustrated confusion. He was still trying to figure out what looked so odd about those two maps; he knew something seemed off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I don't understand!" he exclaimed angrily at all the laughter.

Kevin Richards was having a very difficult time keeping a dignified demeanor, but he did answer.

"I believe it is quite clear, Major. Your 'operatives' managed to get their hands on a collection of 'hoaxes' and other nonsense Garrison was obviously reserving for his own private amusement. The maps are highly inventive, if contrary to any known geography; the essays most impertinent; and the limericks are exceedingly improper. Rather naughty, of course. And quite cunning of his men having so successfully misled your operatives into thinking these are 'Top Secret' documents, but really, it DOES prove the point, you know. Those men know quite well their lives, the lives of many others, depend on those maps and papers in Garrison's possession - the REAL ones, that is! - and would never be drawn into any scheme to let anyone get their hands on them. I do hope the lieutenant isn't too annoyed to find his private reading material missing, and I do hope you didn't pay TOO much for these."

Kingston left in a huff, after receiving a polite request, such as it was, from Mixton to meet the following day to 'discuss matters a bit further'.

The others sat, partook of the whiskey Mixton pulled out of his desk drawer, not even minding the mismatched glasses, even the pencil cup that was hastily wiped out to provide a needed fourth, and took their leisurely time enjoying the various items in that packet of 'valuable information'.

"I'd love to have a copy of these; just the thing to perk up the spirits," the attorney had admitted. "Do you think this Lieutenant Garrison would mind?"

Richards had given a quiet smile. "He's really a very reasonable sort, if obviously possessed of an unexpectedly sharp sense of humor. I'd not like to do so without asking him, but I'll make a point of inquiring when he and his men return. I'll have to see that these get back to him in any case."

"Yes, of course. 'Alyosha Karamazov' - my goodness, haven't thought about the 'Brothers Karamazov' in years. I really must find a copy and read through it again," Colonel McClaine admitted with a smile.

Brewster let out a most unlawyerly smirk. "For myself, I liked that sketch of the party - reminded me of that last to-do I was ordered to attend. So did a few of those limericks, to tell the truth."

The men exchanged a knowing laugh, and allowed Mixton to pour them another drink, and they got busy with the mirror, reading the limericks one after the other.

And the five entrepreneurs? Well, it seems there were a few prior jobs that had come to light. If it had simply been a matter of a few confidence jobs here and there, a few portables gone missing, Meghada would have most likely left it alone. 

But that elderly man who'd revised his will in Victoria's factor not two weeks before his unfortunate demise? The suicide by a young matron when she found herself unable to pay the blackmail Loretta had demanded after inveigling her into an untenable position? 

Those and a few other instances along similar lines seemed to make it inadvisable to allow the five ladies to continue their activities unencumbered. 

The police were most interested in the information presented to them, anonymously, and the five soon found themselves in residence at a facility with slightly less amenable attributes than most they had experienced since they'd left school. Those in charge were really most rude, in fact. Why, the matrons even refused to call Victoria Regine anything other than 'Lucy', or 'Prisoner Blodgette', if they were being formal. The idea!!!

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, Alice Miller would find her husband at the kitchen table, sipping at a glass of whiskey, that dance-floor making its music and the couples dancing, while off to one side that little dog performed his trick, and that naughty goat went around bucking and kicking. 

"Ben, are you going to tell me why you all of a sudden have taken to playing with toys?" she asked that first time, and sat and listened to what little he knew of the story, and laughed right along with him.

"Purely a wonderment, it was, Alice. I wonder . . . ," and he got that thoughtful look she knew so well.

"No, Ben. Perhaps you might keep your eye out for other such things, try your hand at what you're thinking. But you are NOT going to take apart my dance floor, nor Molly's pair. She's right fond of them, you know! Now, finish that whiskey and come to bed. Perhaps we can come up with a dance, maybe a few games of our own to take your mind off those!"

And he did, and they did, enough that they both blushed when Molly asked in the morning, "why are the clockworks all on the kitchen table?"

**Author's Note:**

> The limmerick about Actor? From the events in the story 'Just A Little Run of Bad Luck'.


End file.
